


Finish Line

by lalazee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, PWP, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalazee/pseuds/lalazee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through everything – through hell and heaven, angels and demons, tears and laughter and blood and guts – it always comes down to this. Coda to 6.19.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finish Line

  
Everything is cracking open, spilling out, flooding and drowning.

The sky emulates the earth’s pain as it shatters the heavens and pours down upon Bobby’s scrap yard like Noah himself needs to build a new yacht. Dean sits beneath the cover of the porch, hunched over, elbows on his knees and an untouched beer dangling from his fingers. He watches mud swirl and sweep away at the base of the stairs and feels just as aimless.

In over his head again; pulled under _again_.

 _Cas_.

Lightning slashes jagged and hot across the bruised flesh of the night sky, and Dean blinks just once before he sees a set of soaked dress shoes standing on the bottom step. He doesn’t flinch, but something in his chest does, all sharp and pinched.

“Didn’t pray for you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Dean takes a sip of his lukewarm beer just to prove that he can function and meets Castiel’s eyes over the end of the bottle. Cas is still standing in the rain, like he wants to get soaked, like it’s some kind of punishment he’s imposing upon himself. Dean knows because he’s done the same before.

A screaming torrent of wind shrieks past the house; hurtles rain sideways for a second and leaves Dean spattered and wet and cold and just as miserable as he was a moment ago. The rain doesn’t make him feel any worse – in fact, it feels like a slap in the face, an awakening.

“You poofed over just to stand here like a shitty scene from _The Notebook_ or what?”

Dean’s not scared – not of the angel. Whether Castiel’s light or dark feels inconsequential to him right now; Dean’s light and dark too. He’s got shadows.

And Bobby and Sam may be wrong – they’ve been wrong before. This may be a misunderstanding, misconstrued evidence on an issue that doesn’t even exist.

So why won’t Cas come in from the rain?

The steps creak under the pummelling din of the storm as Cas makes his way up the stairs, slow and purposeful. With a squelch he sits beside Dean, their shoulders separate but their knees bumping. As always – _always_ , every fucking time, dammit – Dean feels gravity pull him incessantly to the left.

Doesn’t matter what Cas does or doesn’t do, Dean wants to be near him. His bones ache to touch, his fingers to caress, his body to claim. It’s a maddening and fool thing to desire, Dean knows – but it never seems to make a difference. After all this time, after all these years he remains drawn to this other half. This half who understands, gives and forgives.

But who is Castiel now?

No one remains the same. No one ever stays, not really. No one is patient forever. Mom, Dad, Sammy, Cassie, Lisa – the slew of people who have intercepted his path. Dean has always understood that love is something which hurts, which requires blood and sacrifice and pieces of yourself.

Considering the way he and Cas began – borne of brimstone and burn-marks and bone – this was inevitable.

And still Dean leans toward him. Closes his eyes, drops his beer bottle so that it topples and rolls down the stairs, and rests his temple on the cold, wet plain of Castiel’s shoulder.

 _Fuck_.

Castiel’s voice rumbles in tandem with a roll of thunder as he presses his damp cheek upon Dean’s head. “I won’t apologise for –”

“Awesome, then we’re on the same page.”

A huff of exasperation. “ _Dean_ –”

Dean cups the unshaven angle of Castiel’s cheekbone and crushes his mouth against salty, rain-slicked lips. Cas doesn’t protest – never does; just opens and spreads for Dean, clacking their teeth together and swiping his tongue over the peaks of Dean’s canines. Blood roars in his head, drowns out the terror that grips him, wipes clean the doubt for a heartbeat or two or two-hundred.

The night cloaks them in a world frigid and unforgiving, and Dean battles it as he ever does; fights the darkness with Cas at his side. Castiel’s icy hands slip into Dean’s hair, fist there like a claim of ownership that’s long past unnecessary. Tiny bursts of pain bloom over Dean’s scalp, and a chill snaps down his spine as a gasp slips from his tongue and onto Castiel’s.

Kissing Castiel is like coming against a force of nature; you hold on, cling and pray and scream for breath, and hope that you reach the finish line alive. Their lips war, their tongues plundering thick and hot and desperate as their hands rip at each other, find skin and _take take take_.

Cas reaps everything from Dean and doesn’t even know it – and if he does, he’s never said so.

Castiel vaults Dean’s lap, brackets Dean’s thighs with his own, and immediately Dean cants his chin to lick a strip along the hard, stubbly line of Castiel’s jaw. His hands shiver and fumble to pull that damned damp dress shirt from Castiel’s waistband; finds warm, quivering skin beneath and just _holds him there_. Grips that pale, slippery waist and allows Castiel to dip down and capture Dean’s swollen mouth once again.

Through everything – through hell and heaven, angels and demons, tears and laughter and blood and guts – it always comes down to _this_. Whatever _this_ is, because there’s no real explanation. When it’s this painful and visceral, there’s no way to describe it.

When you feel it, you _feel_ it and there’s no amount of shitty, useless words that can express just what it does when _that person_ , _that angel_ grips you tight and pulls you in like you’re the only thing that ever mattered. Like you matter more than war or the words unspoken or the lies and deceit.

Like Dean _matters_.

They yank on the zips of each other’s flies, mouths sliding and mashing awkward and full of tongue as their fingers grip each other’s cocks and bring them out into the cold. A jolt slams through Dean’s system, leaves him shaking like a leaf as Cas fists him tight near his balls and squeezes. Dean’s trembling hand works Castiel’s thickening dick to stone as he rocks into Castiel’s firm, calloused palm. Their ragged breaths blast humid against each other’s lips as the cover of night blankets them in sheets of dirty rain and angry howls.

Castiel’s hips stutter against the quickening pace of Dean’s cum-slick fingers, the mantra of Dean’s name spilling from his tongue between hasty licks and bites. Cas breaks off to the moaning dismay of Dean and scatters kisses over his face like heavy raindrops; anoints Dean’s eyelids, his freckles, his nose, his chin with warm, flushed lips and whispers in a dead language.

Dean tilts his head back, his mouth slack in a silent cry that won’t come. Castiel jacks him hard, fast; an unrelenting pace as he laps at Dean’s pulse like a man in worship. A shock of lightning illuminates the sky like a flash of holy light, and Dean comes fast and fierce with fireworks erupting against his eyelids. He sobs for air as every last flicker of flame drains from him, and it only takes a few long, languid pumps down Castiel’s cock to push him over the edge with wide eyes and panting breaths.

Bowing to each other like trees swaying in a storm, Cas slumps and drops his forehead to Dean’s shoulder, Dean pressing his face into the soaked chest of Castiel’s trenchcoat. Castiel’s breath slows and softens, his heart thrumming faintly beneath Dean’s cheek. The patter and drum of the alleviating storm fills Dean’s ears, but no longer drowns out the doubts that abruptly begin to sink in.

“Cas...”

“Know that I never wish to hurt you, Dean,” Castiel rasps close to his ear, breath warm and comforting in a way that it shouldn’t be for a grown man like Dean. “ _Ever_.”

“People wish for a lot of things.”

“So do angels.”

As quick as Cas arrives, he’s gone. Dean blinks at the absence of warmth over his thighs, stares out into the midnight dark, and swears.

He doesn’t know if he feels better or worse.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Finish Line (The Watching from Space Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/384064) by [embroiderama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama)




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